


The Problem With Being a Freelancer

by teethteethteeth



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, M/M, Murder Husbands, No Smut, Terrible People Being Terrible, what do you mean i already wrote this almost exact scenario, what do you mean murder isnt sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29817636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethteethteeth/pseuds/teethteethteeth
Summary: Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz style meetcute.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Kudos: 17





	The Problem With Being a Freelancer

It was the third job this week. Zsasz was fucking pissed. Not by the job. The job was decent. Easy. The guy had gone down smooth as anything. The girl had put up a bit of a fight, but neither of them had been armed, and he’d gotten that knife out of her hand pretty quick. It was some pretty quick cash, and two more lucky fuckers were freed. The fucking problem was that it was the third fucking job that week, which meant that he now had two black eyes at once. As he rifled through the contents of the desk, he prodded at his right side with his left hand. Fuck. Yeah, something in there was definitely fucked. He could always kidnap another doctor or nurse or whatever, but that was always such a fucking hassle. They always talked so fucking much, and it’s not like he could kill them until after they’d done their god damn job. Maybe his parents had been right about studying to be a doctor. Fuck. Laughing fucking hurt. 

Anyways, it wasn’t the fucking beating that was the problem. He could take it. He didn’t even fucking mind it that much. If you got him drunk enough, he’d probably admit that it was one of his fucking favorite parts of the job. It was the fucking healing that was bullshit. 

The real problem was money. Isn’t it fucking always? The jobs just weren’t paying like they used to. Five years ago, he’d have killed anyone who’d offered that little, killed him slow, stuck his face on a telephone pole or fucking left his body on his front steps or something. Maybe naked, just to get that extra kick out of it. That was always funny, seeing people react first to one and then the other. Those were the fucking days. But now the city was just too fucking crowded. There were too many people who wanted to do what he fucking did, even if they didn’t do it as well. The people coming into the city now? Crazy, stupid fucks. The really sick ones would do the job for free even, which just fucked with honest fucking people like himself. Sure, most of them ate it in the process, but there were always more of the fuckers moving in. A fucking nightmare for a freelancer like him.

He could move, he thought, for the hundredth time, as he opened the hotel room’s closet. They hadn’t even closed the safe. He pulled out papers he’d been hired to get. There was some cash in there as well, tied tight in rubber bands, but not enough that the people that had hired him would ask for it. Not enough for rent, even. Fuck. Where would he even go? Not back to fucking Hungary. There was nothing and nobody fucking there, and the weather was shit. Not that it was that much fucking better in Gotham, but at least here he had enough of a reputation to get a few jobs here and there, shitty as they might be. 

Fuck. And now someone was coming up the stairs. Several fucking somebodies. Of course. The god damn guy who’d hired him had sworn that paying off the hotel staff would mean no interruptions, that the couple hadn’t had any guards, but of course he was full of shit. Fuck. He stuffed the last of the papers into his coat pockets, and reached for his gun. 

A lamp exploded on the other side of the room. Shit. The motherfuckers were trying to shoot the lock open. Zsasz groaned and ducked behind the fucking overstuffed monstrosity of an armchair the hotel had somehow thought good enough to be furniture. 

“IT’S FUCKING OPEN, YOU IDIOTS.”

Someone tried the latch. It turned, because Zsasz wasn’t a liar. Usually. He stuck his head to the side of the armchair as a dozen men walked into the room, guns drawn. One, a bald giant, spotted him and cried out. Immediately, all guns turned to Zsasz’s green armchair.

He raised one hand in a wave that none of them returned. Unfriendly assholes. Instead, they stared around him, around the room and the mess they found inside. One guy started gagging. Zsasz rolled his eyes. Pussy. 

The last guy in didn’t have his gun drawn. He didn’t even seem to have one on him. The motherfucker must have spent all of his cash on clothes instead, because even his goddamn socks looked expensive. 

The other men parted to let him saunter into the center of the room. He turned on one, expensive white shoe, and looked around.

“Ew.”

His voice was more nasal than Zsasz had expected. Not unpleasant, necessarily. Just… spoiled. He knew the type. Had grown up with the type, a fucking lifetime ago.

The fucker didn’t even bother looking at him. He just waved at his guys with one gloved hand, and kept examining. Two of his men followed close behind. The rest stayed in place, aiming at Zsasz. As if Zsasz could really do fucking anything with his one fucking gun. He hadn’t been prepared for this shit. Another day, maybe, but this many guys? This many guns? Fuck. He’d just have to let it play out.

Squinting up at the man’s corpse that Zsasz had left hung up from the ceiling lamp, he nodded. “Not how I would have done it, necessarily” said the rich fuck, “but impressive, in its own way.” 

Calm as anything, he walked towards the woman. She was on the ground, by the window. Her long fair (quite pretty, Zsasz had noticed as he choked her with it), had fallen over her face. The fucker brushed it aside with his foot, nodded as he saw the missing face. 

“Now this… this is inspired.”

His voice was different. Deeper. Was he… panting? Zsasz could feel his heart now. Fear? Maybe. Not entirely. Who the fuck was this guy?

He turned back to Zsasz then, a smile wide enough to show perfect teeth. He was younger than Zsasz had expected. Mid to late twenties? Just slightly older than him. Hot too. Of course he fucking was. 

“What are you doing back there?”

Zsasz shrugged. He started to stand up before a shot went over his head.

“Drop the gun, ‘kay?”

Ah. So he did have a gun. Even from across the room, Zsasz could tell that the gun must have cost a fortune. The speed with which the man in front of him had moved though, the man who was now staring at him with no expression on his face, now that was what he found really impressive.

He set the gun on the carpeted floor, put his hands in the air as he rose. Fuck it. If they were going to shoot him, they could do it just as well with him standing. 

The man beamed at him.

“Ah, now that’s a good man, Mr… Who are you?”

“Who the fuck is asking?” 

Zsasz considered putting his hands in his pockets, but sudden movements didn’t seem like a good idea. Then again, neither was mouthing off to this crazy fucker.

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his smile remained amused. It was almost warm. He stepped forward, right into the puddle of blood the swinging man had left in the middle of the room.

One of his guards put an arm out to stop him. It must have been on instinct, because just as his hand landed on the man’s sleeve, he froze, his eyes widened and his breathing grew shallow. Zsasz’s heart started beating faster. He licked his lips, quickly.

The guard stepped back, arm still out in front of him, almost as if he expected the distance to mean anything. His voice was frantic. 

“Mr. Sionis, sir, I was just— I didn’t mean—“

Even from a distance, a bullet versus a human skull is rarely a fair fight. At such a close range? It can do a lot of fucking damage. Brain matter coated the walls, but it was the blood Zsasz had always been interested in, and as he saw it start to drip down the wall, his pulse quickened even more.

Sionis turned back to him, and the smile he gave Zsasz was still planted on, but much, much colder. The hairs at the back of Zsasz’s neck started standing up. He felt… nauseous? No, that wasn’t fucking it. 

“You’re right, of course. It was rude of me not to introduce myself first, wasn’t it?” Smiling, he turned back to the body of his previous guard. “I would thank you for correcting my error,” he told the body, “if you weren’t such a disgustingly stupid piece of shit. Still…” 

The fucker curtsied, and if Zsasz wasn’t wrong, he was smiling as he did it.

“Zsasz.”

“Pardon?” Said Sionis, turning back to him. 

“Name’s Zsasz. Victor Zsasz.”

“Zsasz! I should have known. I’ve heard so much of your work, Victor. I’ll have you know, I’ve been a fan for quite a while,” Sionis said, moving his hands enthusiastically as he walked towards him, around the puddle of blood he’d previously dipped his shoe into. None of his guards moved. Sionis didn’t stop until he was on the other side of the armchair. His gun was still in his hand, but it was head casually, like a cigarette or a glass of wine.

Sionis looked him up and down, smiling wider as he did so. “It’s a pity, you know,” he said mournfully, finally looking away. Zsasz’s head was spinning, but he could tell that Sionis was waiting for him to ask.

“Huh?”

“That your work has been such utter shit lately, of course,” Sionis said, smiling back at him beatifically.

Zsasz should have been fucking pissed. He should have been jumping over the chair and strangled him, or pushed the chair over him and found something to bash his head in, fucking armed guards be damned, but instead… instead he felt guilty. Blood was rushing to his face. He felt like a kid who’d disappointed his god damn favorite teacher. What the fuck was happening? 

The rich fucker was right. He could fucking feel it, in every scar on his body, in his bones, even in his fucking blood. His heart wasn’t in it anymore. Yeah, he got the job done. He always did that. But it wasn’t the same as it had been before. As he had been before. Still…

“Fuck you.”

Sionis actually laughed at that. He was the kind that threw his head back when he laughed, but when he did, it was just a moment too soon. There was something about that, something about the timing that made Zsasz sure that Sionis had practiced that laugh, over and over, until he’d gotten it just like what he wanted.

“Fuck you too, Victor,” he said. He pulled off one of his leather glove to dab at his eyes, dropping it on the floor before he did so, and retrieving a new one from his coat pocket afterwards.

“You’re right, though.” Why the fuck was he admitting it. Why the fuck not. What the fuck was even happening anymore.

Sionis smiled even wider. He walked around the armchair, into the cramped hotel room corner, and put an arm around Zsasz’ shoulder, pressing him into the beige wall next to him. His breath caught. His rib. Something brushed the right side of his head and he realized that Sionis was still holding the gun. It wasn’t pointed at his head though. It was still held casually, limply, swaying slightly. Sionis’ arm was heavier than he had expected. Fuck. Zsasz was finding it hard to breathe. The cologne. The situation. Sionis turned Zsasz away from the door where he’d walked into and towards the rest of the room to face the carnage. 

“Of course I am. I mean, just look around this room. It’s a fucking mess.”

“But that’s the best part,” Zsasz argued. His voice sounded pathetic even to his own ears. 

“What? Oh. No, not the blood,” said Sionis, frowning. “It’s lack of passion. That’s the problem.” 

Zsasz’s whole body stilled at those words. Sionis rested his head on Zsasz’ shoulder and turned to smile at him, eyes gleeful when Zsasz swallowed. Jesus. Fuck. The fucker was wearing eyeliner. Fuck. “Mr. Zsasz. Victor. Why do you do why you do?”

Zsasz wanted to say the money. He always said it was for the money, to the people that hired him. Only the lucky fuckers he killed knew the truth. But, with Sionis’ eyes on him like that…

“Wanna get them out. Out of this stinking, fucking bullshit. I want to set them free.”

Roman smiled widely at the answer. Zsasz felt like if Roman hadn’t been resting on him, using him to hold himself up, that his legs would have given out. Instead, he forced himself to stay still.

“I,” Sionis started saying, but the thud that followed made them both freeze. Sionis had dropped his gun. Zsasz immediately dropped to his heels. Sionis caught himself with the armchair before falling along with him.

One hand on the golden gun, Sionis and Zsasz looked at each other. On the other side of the couch, Zsasz knew that several guns were pointed straight at him. Still, he was fast. He knew he was fast. Fast enough to kill Sionis, even if not fast enough to make it out of there alive. That had never been a problem. He’d known the risk. He’d always been willing to make it.

Sionis stared back at him. Neither said a word. 

Without breaking eye contact, without moving his hand from the gun, Zsasz leaned down. His face almost brushed the carpet before he looked down. Sionis’ white shoes gleamed, but the right was still splattered with blood. Not daring to look up again, he opened his mouth, and with one long swipe, he licked away the blood, then pushed the gun away. 

He couldn’t bear to look up, couldn’t bear—

Tucking his now sparkling shoe under Zsasz’s chin, Sionis lifted up his head to look at him. 

There was a strange expression on both of their faces. On Zsasz there was fear, plain and simple, and a want so strong that he could feel himself shaking with it. On Sionis… surprise. Maybe even hope. And with a sudden, beaming smile, there was a fondness that cracked Zsasz’s dead heart wide open.

“Mr. Zsasz?”

Victor Zsasz couldn’t breathe. He could only stare at the man standing in front of him.

“I think I’ll keep you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Grace, I promised so here it goes: "tongue bath." Fuck off. (also ily u dork)
> 
> Phobus, sorry for making u read this. Love u to the moon and back, fill all craters. 
> 
> Anyone else, stream Here Lies Graveyardguy.


End file.
